


Is Tu Fuil 'O Mo Chuislean

by wench_fics (WeasleyWench)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M, M/M Sex, Vampire Sex, Violence, hp_vampfest entry, ooc, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeasleyWench/pseuds/wench_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry becomes a vampire - and has to mate soon or be killed. His mate is none other than Draco Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is Tu Fuil 'O Mo Chuislean

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ты кровь от крови моей](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6210928) by [bayern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayern/pseuds/bayern)



> Warnings: M/M sex, language, blood play, Fluff, Dark-ish themes/violence, EWE
> 
> Disclaimer: _Harry Potter is © J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic, and all others involved. I do not own or make any money from this work of fiction._  
>  Original request/Bunny: prompt from fest  
> Prompt 37.  
> Pairing(s):Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy  
> Maximum rating: NC17  
> Scenario: Harry comes into his inheritance as pureblooded Vampire, at the young age of 35. Draco Malfoy, Deputy Minister of Magic, is his mate. Draco is NOT happy about it. Every night, at exactly midnight, for 29 nights, Harry comes to see him to try and woo the reluctant blond. Draco denies him, and each time, Harry grows weaker and weaker. The night Harry begins to feel Death, Draco has a change of heart. Is it too late?  
> Cool things: a single red rose (with thorns)  
> Squicks: none (submitted by ladybahiya  
> Notes: I would like to offer many sincere thanks to my beta romany_walker for all of her hard work on making this fic better than it was when it started: you keep coming through for me, and I don’t know what I’d do with out you. My eternal thanks and appreciation. Thank you to oldenuf2nb and pittwitch for holding my hand when I needed someone to remind me that all of this is because it’s fun. I do hope that this is close enough to what you requested, ladybahiya. After lots of re-writing, dark-ish fairy tale came to mind, and this is the result.

****

Is Tu Fuil 'O Mo Chuislean

__

Ye are Blood of my Blood

“Mr Potter?”

Harry stirred fitfully, his body aching all the way to the tips of his toes. The voice that had just called to him was unfamiliar, and not knowing where he was, or how he had got there, was unnerving to him. 

“Mr Potter, can you hear me?” the voice said, more insistent than before. 

Harry finally opened his eyes, instinctively reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. The room was bright, painfully bright, to Harry’s tired eyes, and he followed the voice to his right, where a tall, lean man sat with a bundle of clipped parchments and a quill in his hand.

His glasses in hand, he slid them on his nose; the room came into focus, and the handsome face of a young Healer greeted him. 

“Why am I here?” Harry asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use. He didn’t feel much like himself as he slowly wiggled his foot, feeling the slick slide of sweat between his toes. 

“Do you know where you are?” the Healer asked, his voice calming to Harry’s addled senses.

“St Mungo’s,” he stated confidently as he shifted into a more comfortable position in the narrow bed.

“Correct. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“No,” Harry said, closing his eyes as he searched for a memory of what had brought him to the wizarding hospital. He remembered having been on assignment with Ron, and being hit with a particularly nasty Slicing Hex. Instead of having a Healer check him over before leaving, Harry had cast basic field healing charms on his injured extremities and had gone home to Grimmauld Place tired but otherwise feeling okay. He had been confident that Ron could sufficiently file the proper reports about their mission. He didn’t remember what had happened after that, though, and that worried him. “Not clearly, anyway,” he amended.

“Can you tell me what you do remember?”

Harry recounted his last conscious recollection for the Healer, watching as the man took careful notes of Harry’s narrative, nodding at all of the appropriate times. 

“How long ago was that?” Harry enquired, flexing his arms, as they felt heavy and unlike his own body. Rather, nothing within his own body felt like him, and he adjusted again, wondering exactly what had happened that had landed him in St Mungo’s. 

“Three days, Mr Potter. Your house-elf brought you in. It seems you took quite a nasty fall while getting out of the bath and coupled with improperly healed wounds, which, of course, re-opened owing to the increased circulation consequent on soaking in hot water combined with the poor healing I mentioned and the physical shock of the impact on the floor, and the severity of the situation was exacerbated by you hitting your head on the sink.” 

He reached up and gingerly touched his head, but nothing felt out of the ordinary even if the rest of him did. Harry had just noticed that the man seemed to be speaking abnormally slowly, and it irritated him slightly. “But I’m okay now, right?”

“Yes, though more tests will be required at a later time.”

“Why?”

“It would seem,” he began, “that your house-elf took it upon himself to save you. We aren’t entirely certain what he did, though. Your pallor was indicative of significant blood loss, so after initial testing for any abnormalities, which yielded positive results, we administered a Blood-Replenishing Potion. We’ve never had a house-elf stabilise a patient before.” He took a moment to let Harry process the information and continued, “The reason you were unconscious for so long is that your house-elf introduced some sort of blood into your bloodstream, and we had to test to be sure that there was nothing unusual…. When we gave you the potion, your blood, which is now… changed, replenished based on what your house-elf gave you. Not yours.” 

Harry looked at the man in confusion; he wasn’t sure what to make of what the Healer was trying to say, so he dimly asked, “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Mr Potter, the new blood that was introduced to your system replicated, and after comparing it to other families, it has the same genetic compositions as the Blacks and the Malfoys. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“What? How… Is that actually possible?” Harry felt his head spinning as he tried to understand the complexity of the situation. “Kreacher!” Harry snapped, quite angry.

The ugly little house-elf appeared before Harry, his face fixed to the tiled hospital floor. “How is Kreacher serving Master?” The Healer seemed to shrink away from the elf, but Harry ignored it, assuming that it was due to how dirty and old Kreacher appeared.

“Kreacher, look at me,” Harry commanded, his confusion fuelling the anger that burned within him. The elf’s wide eyes met Harry’s, and he demanded, “Tell me what happened.”

“Master Harry was poorly. Kreacher took the blood of the Blacks and saved Master Harry’s life.” 

_What the hell does that mean?_ Harry wondered. “Kreacher, where did the blood come from?”

“Kreacher kept it when Master Harry tried to throw away everything that belonged to Mistress.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry said, exhaling harshly as he shoved his fingers through his hair. “Kreacher, whose blood was it?” Harry almost didn’t want to know, but he felt compelled to find out, as he was aware, through what he knew about Dark Magic and the importance of blood to certain spells and potions, that blood, hair, and other bodily substances could connect witches and wizards to one another, magic, and the wizarding world.

“Kreacher is not knowing whose blood; Kreacher is only knowing that Mistress kept blood of the family. Blood of the family is important, she tells Kreacher. Kreacher never forgets Mistress’s orders to keep the family blood safe.”

Harry couldn’t see how it was exactly a bad thing, but it explained why he felt so strange. He seemed changed, almost like a ghost of his former self in some ways. A creeping sensation of dread rolled over him, and he looked at the damnable creature standing before him.

He inhaled sharply, feeling categorically unnerved by the news, wishing that someone else had been saddled with such misfortune. 

“The good news is that you are perfectly healthy, sir,” the Healer said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “We found no traces of illness, and it might take a few days, but your body should adapt to the change accordingly.”

“Right,” Harry replied, flummoxed. His mind was reeling, and he dismissed Kreacher, shaking his head in confusion at the situation. 

“Mr Potter, this isn’t something that should be terribly life-altering for you. Patients undergo blood transfusions all the time with no adverse effects. You have, in essence, endured the same thing, only through a much more archaic process. Your body will fully adapt. You’re lucky to be alive,” the Healer said, standing. “Take a bit to rest. Your friends are here, and I’m sure they would like to see you. Good day, sir.” The Healer’s valediction was completely lost on Harry as the door opened and closed with a faint whisper. 

_Bollocks._

**~*~*~*~**

The pale glow of the first full moon hit the floor at the Black house and seemed to ripple on the dark wooden boards beneath Harry’s feet. He felt incredibly anxious, uncharacteristically for him, as he had always kept a cool head when he and Ron took the night patrols. But he had been restless of late, and he owed it to the fact that he still had no recollection of how he had lost enough blood to be close to death. Even though he knew the Healers to be more than competent, he still felt a twinge of doubt about the validity of their assertions. He often wondered if the strange disassociation he had been feeling really was psychosomatic, as Hermione had explained to him.

“Malfoy’s still a git! I can’t believe he denied your request,” Ron said, fuming. Ron paced back and forth, the planks at Grimmauld Place creaking under his steady barrage of forceful steps. To Harry, he looked like one of his own children pouting, but he kept his observation to himself, knowing that Ron would hardly liken to be compared to one of his petulant offspring. Hermione was their mother, after all. “What’s he get out of it, anyway?”

“It’s fine,” Harry said, trying to hide his own irritation. It had been long enough since the war that Harry no longer had the energy to devote to clinging to petty rivalries, even if Malfoy did. He was a better man than that, and he’d be damned if Draco-sodding-Malfoy was going to be the centre of his thoughts for the next three hours while they patrolled for Dark Creatures. He was healthy, and that was all that mattered. There was still a job to do, and since there had been increased reports of werewolves on the prowl, it was their task to find and locate them, putting a stop to any attacks. Greyback was no longer alive, but Harry was quite certain that there were beasts like him still in wizarding society. 

He shrugged it off mentally, preparing himself for patrol. They had five locations to scour, and Harry had slept restlessly, constantly having to adjust the shades on the windows at the run-down Black family home. 

The large clock in the sitting room finally began the twelve chimes signalling midnight, and Harry headed for the door, his Invisibility Cloak stowed carefully in his backpack. The clock’s vibrations thrummed through him, and he felt his skin pebble at the sensation as it resonated within him. 

“Ready?” he asked Ron, who was still carrying on about Malfoy. 

Ron stopped his grating pacing and followed Harry into the pale gaze of the moon. Two _pops_ signalled their Disapparation from London to southern Wiltshire, where the most recent reports of werewolf activity had come from, and they landed, staring at a large wood, the soft light from wizarding houses in the area emanating through the thick flora surrounding them. 

The cool night air ghosted across Harry’s warm cheeks as he began the silent walk through the thick trees and overgrowth of bushes. Their breath came in soft puffs that lingered only a moment, seemingly frightened away by the distant howls that echoed through the naked boughs.

The trek through the dense trees was quiet as they kept their ears and eyes open for anything untoward. Another howl pierced the darkness, and Ron stumbled, causing branches to snap under his clumsy feet. 

Harry looked around, feeling alert, powerful, as he scanned for any movement. The foul scent of carnage reached his nostrils, and they flared at the coppery scent of blood and rent flesh. He wasn’t sickened by it, though, not as he would have expected to be. No, his heart began to pump wildly with the images of what it would feel like as it burned his throat with the first taste, and his mouth began to water as though he would be sick, but he felt no nausea. It was an odd sensation, but he ignored it; he couldn’t risk distractions with Dark Creatures on the loose. Instead, he reached forward and placed a shaking hand on Ron’s shoulder to garner his partner’s attention, and the tall man stopped and turned to Harry, his eyebrows arched in query. Harry gesticulated that he smelt something, and Ron’s arched brows furrowed at the signals.

His shoulders nearly touched his ears as he shook his head, telling Harry that he couldn’t smell anything. Harry really hated how thick Ron could be at times, so he cut the air with his hand, indicating that they should continue south, instead of north, where Ron had been going. 

They continued on, and he could smell the death so acutely that he nearly left Ron stuck in a patch of nettles rather than assisting when the scent become so strong that it felt like he was choking on the presence of it. Harry had to know what was there, and he couldn’t figure out why only he could smell it.

His skin began to itch the closer they drew to the location that Harry’s senses kept forcing them toward. He fought the urge to dig his nails into his flesh and scrape the excited nerves until they stopped protesting against whatever had overcome him. He cast an irritated glance at his partner; Ron’s steps were so loud that he had the impulse to cast a Silencing Charm on his partner’s feet, but he didn’t, and he soon found himself wishing he had. A clearing in the knot of trees began to open, and in the centre was a small fire, its flames licking the air as it warmed the two bodies clinging tightly to one another in the crisp January weather. Across from them stood a large, mangy werewolf, its russet fur covered in coagulating clumps of blood and torn skin. There was a body lying before it, and Ron choked back a gasp. The creature looked up, following what Harry could swear was each inhalation he took. His heart rate increased as he eyed the feral beast. 

Everything began to feel tight, and the scent of the werewolf hit Harry’s nose with a near-blinding force. His blood felt like it was boiling in his veins, and a terrible pain coursed through him as he dropped to his knees and a feral scream seared his throat and lungs. His jaw ached with the inundation of sensation, nearly choking him as he fell forward, his hands burning at the icy touch of the earth. Pain, sharp and persistent began in his chest and slowly spread out; he forced his eyes closed, and his fingernails scraped the dirt beneath his hands. He tried to breathe, but it was difficult, and he tried to stand.

The world stopped for Harry as a blinding pain wracked his body. His vision blurred into nothing, and he curled on his side, fighting the plummet of his stomach and the sharp break of his gums. His incisors elongated, and the air was ripped from his lungs, the dry leaves crumpling around him as his body twisted like a snake against the damp ground. He couldn’t think. 

Blood pooled in his mouth, and he spat it out as his body tensed and jerked on the unyielding ground. Cries of pain continued to burst from his barely parted lips, and he opened his eyes cautiously.

A cacophony of voices brought him back to his senses. The ache in his limbs began to subside slowly, and Ron’s voice screaming his name around a flash of spells forced him to sit up and look around. Gradually his body began to adjust, and a hunger like none he’d ever felt before took hold of him. His vision became tinged red as he focussed on the scene around him.

“Harry, watch out!” Ron yelled.

Harry sensed the werewolf before he actually saw it, some instinct alerting him to the repugnant thing’s proximity. Its ghastly breath hung in the air, and, with his wand in hand, Harry followed the creature’s movements through the trees until it stopped, its predatory gaze fixed. The beast’s brief hesitation was all Harry needed, so he pointed his wand, and the Killing Curse spilled from his lips. The violent flash of sickly-green light hurtled through the decomposing foliage and hit the large animal in the chest.

A howl barely escaped its lips before it dropped to the putrid ground in a heap. Harry’s heart pounded heavily, a weight in his chest that felt foreign, and he scanned the area for Ron.

“Harry!” Ron cried out, skidding to a halt, his knees impacting with the ground so forcefully that it drew blood. Harry could smell it: sweet, like liquid life. Saliva filled his mouth, mingling with the lingering taste of his own blood, and his teeth felt as though they were going to force their way from his mouth.

“Ron,” Harry said slowly, trying to regain his self-control, “you need to check on the Muggles.” His partner stuttered a reply as he attempted to stand and close the distance between them. Harry took a step back and yelled, “Stay away from me!”

“Harry, mate, what’s going on?” Ron’s face could have been a portrait of confusion the way his brow furrowed and his lips were pulled tight. 

“Just— Get back!” The scent of blood was almost too tempting, and Harry tried to rein in his confusing loss of control as Ron stepped away slowly, never turning his back to his partner. 

“All right, mate. You stay there…” 

The seconds passed painfully slowly as Ron finally cleared the tree line and approached the frightened Muggles with care. Harry was almost ashamed of the way his instincts insisted that he follow his partner; he wanted to lap at the blood, and feel the satisfaction he _knew_ would accompany a single drop. His jaw clenched tightly as he trembled with the need to drink— 

Out of his mind with the lust for blood, Harry broke into a run, twigs snapping beneath his feet, the sound reaching his ears only after he had stopped. Ron hadn’t even looked up, and Harry tried to stop his hands from closing around the Muggle woman’s jacket, but his body was no longer his mind’s to control. 

The girl gasped, her attempt to stumble away exposing her dark neck, and Harry hissed a warning; his prey wasn’t going anywhere. The artery exposed to him throbbed as though calling to him, and Ron’s appalled yell couldn’t stop Harry from sinking his teeth into the pulsing flesh. The first rush of heated blood against his tongue was sickening. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but there was no way to control it; he couldn’t stop. Part of him didn’t want to stop, and he swallowed the rush of crimson glory as he felt his insides burn with pleasure.

Swallowing the blood quelled the fire beneath Harry’s skin, and slowly he began to feel more stable as the maddening thirst began to fade. Each droplet that hit his tongue felt alive and each reactive swallow suffused his bones, his entire body, with a tingling sensation. As he felt her heart stop its faint pounding, he pulled away from her neck, sickeningly sated, and he inhaled deeply. His eyes rolled as his head tipped back and a hedonistic laugh tore from his lips, echoing through the clearing. 

The limp body in his arms dropped to the cold ground with a dull _thud_ , and Ron’s voice reached his sensitive ears. Fingers, cold and clumsy, flexed before him, and he looked at his dirty palms, feeling as though he were looking at a different man. “Harry!” Ron called again, and he sighed with repletion, a wicked leer painted upon his countenance. After clearing the remnants of blood from his face, he turned to face his best mate. Shock and confusion crumpled Ron’s features.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Ron yelled, and Harry’s body tingled as he froze in place, the spell forcing him to lie beside the dead Muggle woman he had just fed from.

**~*~*~*~**

_…is tu cnaimh de mo chnaimh._

A shuddering inhalation broke the silence of the Minister’s office. Eyes, blazing green, darted around the expansive room, and the first feeling of sickness gripped Harry. His stomach, bloated like a tick, felt horribly uneasy as he turned over in attempting to rise. The pungent stench of leather, dirt – filth – assaulted his senses, and he lost the battle with his stomach. Dry heaves wracked him as he stumbled to the bin, willing his body to co-operate. His brain swam, and his heart pounded until he had lost all energy, and he settled on the floor, hating the way his body twitched.

The shriek of a metal joint twisting made Harry look up, and a sliver of light slowly expanded in the dark room as he lay motionless, holding his stomach. The first scent to reach him was musky and rich, and the Minister walked in, his steps followed closely by a scent he’d ever inhaled; it was ubiquitous, and a thrilled shiver danced the length of his spine as he tasted the air. He sat up immediately, and Kingsley’s booming voice stole his attention. “Close the door, Malfoy.”

As Malfoy closed it, the lights flared to life, and Harry, knowing that he had to taste Draco, nearly leapt from his sitting position as he closed the distance between them. A pointed, pale visage challenged him as he pressed his body against the tall frame of the Deputy Minister. 

“It’s you…” Harry whispered seductively, his tongue running the length of Malfoy’s chiselled jaw. 

“What’s ‘me’, Potter? Get the hell off me!” Draco snapped, trying to push Harry’s weight away. 

“You smell—” He stopped and ran his nose the length of Malfoy’s face, inhaling the tantalising scent of power and perfection. His nostrils flared against the warm pallor, and he felt a wave of desire spread through him. Malfoys’ scent was like an aphrodisiac, and he felt his body responding immediately to the proximity of the one he _knew_ would sustain him for as long as he breathed; he could feel it, and he shifted closer just to feel the heat of Malfoy’s body against his. “Your blood is perfect, Malfoy,” he whispered again, his tongue trailing the shell of the other man’s ear. 

“Potter!” Kingsley yelled. “Let him go.”

“He’s mine, Kingsley,” Harry said quickly, gnashing his teeth at the dark-skinned wizard.

“Get off me,” Draco tried again, and Harry turned to face him, his teeth painfully throbbing as he savoured the smooth pale skin beneath his lips. 

“I need you, Malfoy. Need to taste you,” Harry said desperately. He pressed his erection into Malfoy’s body, groaning as sparks of pleasure spread through him. 

A barely audible whimper escaped Malfoy’s lips, and he cleared his throat. “No!” he said clearly, and the rejection forced Harry away like a blow to the chest. It hurt, and he backed away, feeling breathless. Malfoy’s face was flushed slightly, and Harry could smell the faint hint of arousal coming from him as well. 

“Sit down, Potter. And, Malfoy, you take a seat over there,” Kingsley said, pointing across the room. The two men took their seats, and Kingsley drew his wand, keeping it aimed toward Harry. The dark-skinned wizard appeared pensive for a moment and said, “This complicates things.”

Harry was trying to listen to the Minister, but his attention was completely captivated by Malfoy. His eyes were like the fog of a Scottish moor, and Harry felt himself getting lost in the need to be next to him, to taste him. His fingers twitched with an urgent ache to touch, to allow his nerves to ignite as their bodies slid together. His mind conjured lewd images to accompany his thoughts, and he couldn’t hear what the two men were saying, only that as Malfoy’s tongue darted against his lips, leaving a bit of saliva on the pale surface, all Harry could think of was that Draco had the sort of devilish tongue that he desperately wanted to suck on—

“Potter, call your house-elf,” Kingsley said. “I want to question him.”

Harry grudgingly refocused on the Minister’s request and called out, “Kreacher!”

_Crack._ The ancient elf appeared, his eyes low to the floor before Harry. “How is Kreacher serving Master?”

“Kreacher, look at me.” The elf’s bulbous eyes met Harry’s, and he said, “I want you to answer whatever questions the Minister asks. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Kreacher, when you gave Harry the blood, did you know that it belonged to a vampire?” 

“Kreacher did not know. Kreacher is only saving Master’s life.”

“Whose blood was it?” 

“Kreacher is giving Master the blood of the Blacks.”

“The Blacks…” Kingsley said, his face wrinkled in thought. “I don’t know of any Blacks who were vampires. I’ll have to do some checking, Harry. Until I can find a name, it doesn’t help. But it appears that Malfoy is your mate. You just fed… that’s the only explanation for the way you reacted when he came into the room. How does he smell to you?”

“Perfect,” Harry purred, his gaze fixed on those smoky-grey eyes.

“I’m not mating with Potter!” Malfoy said. “It’s none of my concern that he’s… _changed_. ” 

Harry watched as Malfoy’s lips moved, his thoughts centred on tasting the blood that coursed through Draco’s veins. 

“Potter, pay attention,” Kingsley said, and Harry’s head snapped in the Minister’s direction. “Yes, Malfoy, it is, because whether you like it or not, you are apparently his mate. It’s not completely unheard of that a vampire finds his mate immediately, but it’s rare. Mating doesn’t mean you become a vampire.”

“I don’t care what Potter’s house-elf did. It’s not my problem,” he said, standing.

“Malfoy, think about this before you walk away. Do you really want to fight the compulsion to mate? It’s been done. There are recorded situations where a vampire found its mate and the mate was promised to another or a Muggle…” Kingsley said, and Malfoy looked at him with an expression that read confused and angry to Harry.

“If you refuse to bond or let Potter feed from you, one of two things will happen: the first is that the Imperius Curse will be used on you so he can feed. The actual bond requires a willing partner, but they eventually have to feed, and we will do whatever is necessary to keep from having any dangerous vampires. Why do you think there aren’t very many? They rarely find their actual mates, and they end up dead. We can’t force you to bond, but we will take measures to make sure that he isn’t dangerous to society. And the second – well, Potter, you’d better be listening – he’ll have to be put down,” Kingsley said. “He’s a Dark Creature, but there are ways to avoid a political scandal, Malfoy, and if Rita Skeeter gets wind of this, I’m certain that your career will be over as quickly as it began.”

“Are you threatening me, Minister?” Malfoy asked, glaring at Kingsley. Harry snorted at the choice of words, and Draco’s gaze settled on him, his lips curled with disdain.

“I’m reminding you that there are still those who wish to see you at the bottom of wizarding society, and you refusing to bond with Potter will create a situation that jeopardises lives. This may be your personal life, but it’s out of your hands now.”

“I’ll think on it. Good evening, sir.” Malfoy left the office, and Harry stood to follow, but Kingsley’s voice forced him back into his seat. Now that Malfoy was gone, Kingsley’s scent hit Harry full on, and it made him feel ill. He smelt like a corpse. 

“Why Malfoy?” Harry asked, his thoughts returning to normal now that Malfoy was no longer sitting across from him.

“My only guess is blood calls to blood, Harry.”

“What does that mean? _Blood calls to blood_ …”

“Draco’s the only witch or wizard of Black blood that isn’t bound by a magical relationship already.” 

Harry took a moment to think about what Kingsley had said, but it didn’t make sense. How he was supposed to understand it, though, he wasn’t sure. It was just another mystery of the wizarding world to him, and that rankled as much as Malfoy’s obvious dislike of him.

“Potter, I’m relieving you of your duties. Weasley covered up everything out there, but I know what happened, and while I understand that you can’t be held responsible for what’s happened, the public won’t see it the same way. The Ministry will take whatever measures are required in order to keep deaths to a minimum. I’m going to assign Weasley to monitor your _courtship_ with Malfoy, but if you lose it, that’s it. He will kill you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Minister,” Harry growled.

**~*~*~*~**

The following night, one of the many house-elves at Malfoy Manor interrupted Draco’s sleep to inform him that there was a man at the gates demanding to see him. In a filthy temper, he travelled the long hallways until he reached the library that overlooked the front of the Manor’s grounds. Potter stood against the gates, and Draco watched, the slightest tug of compulsion to join the other man seemed to caress his insides, and without sympathy, he turned to the elf that had followed him and said, “Send him away.”  
Draco returned to bed fully aware that Potter wouldn’t stop pursuing him, but there was no way he could mate with him. He had duties, and they didn’t leave room for giving into the ephemeral feeling that had gripped him in the Minister’s office or as he saw Potter at the gates of the Manor. He did feel the draw to Potter, but he forced any thoughts of mating with the other man to the back of his mind. Complicating the marriage arrangements his mother had begun would only make the situation worse. Comfortably ensconced in his bed, he closed his eyes, but the _pop_ of an elf’s arrival disturbed him.

“What is it now?” he demanded of the grovelling creature. 

“Master, Mr Potter has sent Zify with a gift, sir.”

“Let me see,” Draco said, eying the elf’s extended hand with uncertainty. In her gnarled grasp was a single red rose with thorns. Draco reached for it, inhaled the scent, and sent the elf to place it in a vase. Maybe Potter wasn’t completely hopeless.

Morning came, and Draco went about his usual routine. By the time he arrived at breakfast, his mother was still at the table sipping a cup of tea. 

“Draco, we can’t afford to be upsetting the Greengrass family with this business with Potter. They’re high sticklers, and the veriest breath of scandal will put them off and we'll be ruined.”

“It’s well in hand, Mother.”

“Good.”

Draco finished his breakfast and left his mother, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he headed to the Ministry. The entire day was spent with Kingsley’s eye closely scrutinising him. He performed his duties, left at the end of the day, and found himself sitting awake late that evening, wondering if Potter would return. But once he realised what he was doing, he shrugged it off and went to bed.

The next few days followed the same pattern as the first: Potter arrived at midnight, and Zify woke Draco each time, giving him the thorny red rose. His mother’s warning remained at the front of his mind, so he did what he felt he had to do, ordering Zify to send Potter away. He owed his mother for her sacrifices, and there was no amount of wooing that Potter could do to change that.

**~*~*~*~**

Harry paced the sitting room at Grimmauld Place, a slip of parchment clutched tightly in his fist. Kingsley had finally located the records on the Black family, and a documented Squib named Marius Black had been the one… The research had unearthed the large sum that Cygnus and Violetta Black had paid in order to keep Marius’ affliction a dirty family secret, and Harry was now paying the price for it. He didn’t want to end up like Marius had: dead at the hands of Aurors because his survival instincts had driven him to a blood rage, as Kingsley had called it. It was damned unfair, and despite knowing that he would probably be sent home once again by that damned house-elf, he Disapparated, and waited outside the gates of the Malfoy estate, his hope waning with each passing day.

The days had become weeks, and Harry was starting to feel his hunger increasing – much the same as the eve of his transformation. The more Draco pushed him away, the more Harry felt each rejection, and it stung, making him wish that he could just see Draco, for somewhere in his imagination, seeing Draco would somehow assuage the ache within him. 

They hadn’t spoken face to face since the night in the Minister’s office, but he couldn’t give up. He needed Draco. And now that he knew what had happened, he only had two options: mate with Malfoy, or die. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to be with Draco….

He didn’t care if the house-elf sent him away again, he needed to attempt to speak with Draco, to make him see how much he needed him, so he Disapparated with a loud _crack_ and landed outside the gates at the Manor. 

To his surprise, Draco stood there, almost as if waiting for him, and Harry felt relieved, almost triumphant to be near his mate, the one who smelt like life to him.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, the name flowing reverently from his mouth. Their eyes met, and for a moment, Harry could swear that there was something other than rejection in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly.

“Potter,” he drawled, regaining his composure. Fuck, his scent was like nothing Harry had ever smelt, and it called to him, sang to him, and he just wanted to taste it, if only once. 

Moonlight reflected off Draco’s pale hair, and Harry inhaled the scent of herbs, the tangy, mouth-watering aroma of his blood. It made his skin burn, but there was no way Draco would let him in, and he knew it. 

“Aren’t you coming out?” Harry asked hopefully. 

“Why? So I can lean my neck to the side so you can— feed from me? Claim me as your mate?” The way Draco’s lips moved when he spoke excited Harry. All he could think about was the taste, the smell, and how good it would feel for those pouty lips to be wrapped around his cock as he fucked Draco’s face. He nearly moaned at the images that ran across his mind, his cock throbbing painfully hard against his trousers.

“No, and you know there’s more to it than that,” Harry growled lowly. 

“Then tell me, Potter.” Draco raised a pale eyebrow in challenge, his shoulders never shifting, his tone never changing. 

Harry grew irritated. He knew that he was lucky to have reined in his desires as much as he had; being so close to Draco was both a blessing and a curse to his senses. He thought about how he should explain it to Draco, but he wasn’t sure he could. “It’s… a feeling,” he tried, dropping his head. “You aren’t—” Harry sighed. “I want to live. But I can’t live without you, and… I don’t want to ruin your life, but I don’t want to die, either.”

“Why me?” 

“You are the only wizard with Black blood who doesn’t already have a lover – a mate – whatever. It’s— It’s complicated. Need to mate – tears, blood, semen – all of it. I need all of you,” Harry said. “Lucky for you, I can’t _take_ it. You’d already be mine if—” Harry licked his lips, biting down against the soft flesh as he watched Draco. He was losing what control he had the longer they stood facing one another, and when he finally lost it, he leapt at the cold iron gates, snarling, “Why won’t you see me? Why won’t you talk to me?” He was surprised that he had been in control that long, as it was all instinct and need driving him at that point. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Potter,” Draco said backing away from him calmly. 

“No, please, don’t walk away. Draco,” Harry whispered, trying to control the need to touch, taste, and consume Draco. Frustrated, Harry let out of a heavy sigh, and holding the bars that separated them he said, “It’s torture every time you send that damned elf to make me leave.” He placed his head against the cold gate and looked at Draco, feeling completely lost. It was pathetic how much he needed a touch, a taste… 

“I wasn’t aware you had been calling, Potter.” 

“Liar! I’ve been here every night, and that stupid house-elf of yours always tells me to leave. Merlin,” he said shoving his hands through his hair. “I’ve picked up thousands of grains of rice in the hope of seeing you before dawn, just to smell you. Everyone else smells like death,” Harry said, his insides aching. 

“What _are_ you talking about?” Draco asked, calculatedly maintaining his distance.

“Your elf… I come at midnight every night. Ron can tell you… he’s standing behind the trees over there,” Harry said, twisting his head to the side. He closed his eyes and inhaled, shuddering at the purity of Draco’s scent. “Fuck, I need to taste you,” he whispered. “Those roses you send — do you know what it does to me?” he asked, nearly insane in Draco’s presence after having been denied for so long. “I hate it, but at the same time it gives me hope that you’ll give in… that you won’t always make me suffer. And even if it’s just one taste, it’s worth it…”

“What roses? Potter, you’re mad.”

“I’m not!” he hissed. “I’ve tasted three drops of your blood for the last two and a half weeks, and it calls to me, Draco. I need it. I need you. Without you, I’m… dead. I’ll die. I don’t want to die.”

“Go home, Potter.”

“No… please. Kiss me, touch me, something… It hurts, Draco.”

“Potter—”

“Call me Harry,” he pleaded. “Don’t send me away again.” 

Assuming that the gate was locked, Harry reached out a hand toward Draco, and he hesitated slightly, unsure if he could even close the distance properly. When Draco made no move to stop him, he extended his hand through the gap in the bars and hoped that Draco wouldn’t reject him. Anything was better than nothing, and he watched, hoping that his offering wouldn’t be denied. 

There was a slight hesitance in Draco’s movement, but he extended his hand and brushed his fingertips against Harry’s, each movement slow, and Harry held his breath, rapt with the sensation of the gentle caress. He wanted to pull his mate closer, but the spell was broken by the arrival of a house-elf at Draco’s side. 

“Master Draco, Mistress is sending Zify to collect you.”

Draco’s head snapped to attention, and before he could pull his hand away, Harry reached out and wrapped his fingers around Draco’s wrist. A racing pulse met the pads of his fingers, and he yanked Draco forward until their faces were inches apart. “Don’t go,” he said, his nose lightly touching the soft, pale skin. 

“I have to,” Draco said. “Release me.”

“One kiss,” Harry said. “I can’t take your blood without your permission… one kiss,” he begged. 

Harry opened his mouth and dragged his bottom lip against Draco’s, inhaling the soft scent of tea and perfection. When Draco didn’t pull away, Harry slowly pressed their lips together, tasting the sweet agony of his mate’s kiss. It was better than he could have imagined, and all coherent thought left his mind as he curled his tongue against Draco’s for the first time. It was arousing, and fuck, Draco tasted good. Fire and ice licked his insides as he responded to the tangle of their tongues, hungry and utterly devastating to his starved body. He knew he was only torturing himself, but he needed this. He raised a hand and pressed his palm against Draco’s heated cheek, their mouths parting and breaths becoming heavy the longer the moment lasted.

Time could have stopped and Harry wouldn’t have noticed, at least not until that damned elf began speaking again, and Draco pulled away. “Tomorrow?” Harry asked hopefully.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Draco replied, but Harry could hear the hitch in his breath, and there was something in the expression on Draco’s face that made him think that Draco would allow it. 

“How can you accept mating with someone you don’t know…?” Harry said. “I just… need your blood now. I know… I know this isn’t perfect, and I know we don’t know each other, but it’s you, Draco. You’re mine, and I’m yours… can’t you feel it?”

“Master Draco,” the elf insisted, and Draco’s eyes opened wide for a moment before he took a step away, his wrist falling easily from Harry’s relaxed hold. 

“Draco?” Harry queried.

No response came, but Harry saw the slight inclination of his head, and watched as he walked away. An all-too-familiar pain spread from his insides as a crack rent the silence around him. 

When he arrived home, all Harry could think about were Draco’s answers. He didn’t know what was going on, and anyone getting in the way would have to be stopped. Draco was his, and he needed him. 

Not long after he began pacing, trying to think of ways to woo Draco, Kreacher arrived with a single white rose, its petals bleeding his mate’s scent. “Master has been sent this by the Malfoy boy. Kreacher brings it to Master with a letter.”

Harry nearly ripped the elf’s arm off reaching for the delicate flower, and his tongue slid lasciviously against each petal, savouring the coppery tang of perfection as it landed in his mouth, just like he had for the past two and a half weeks. Knowing that Draco had sent another rose told Harry he had been listening, and that maybe things would work out after all. Maybe he needed to tell Draco he didn’t love him, or that he didn’t expect Draco to love him; he felt that he needed to say something. But his mind was a haze, and he didn’t know what to do. All he could think about was the taste of Draco’s lips against his, and how he wanted to prove he was a good mate, a protector, a provider, and the more intense his thoughts grew, the petals broke away from the stem and landed on the floor in a scattered array of stained white against dark boards beneath his feet. 

Once he could see clearly again, eyes no longer tainted with the red sheen that accompanied the scent of blood, he tore open the parchment and read Draco’s neat script. 

_Potter,  
I will meet you tomorrow night at midnight, but I make no promises beyond that._

_D Malfoy_

Harry inhaled the scent of the crisp parchment and placed it on his night table before retiring. _I’ll make it worth it,_ he thought as he closed his eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

**~*~*~*~**

_Is leatsa mo bhodhaig, chum gum bi sinn ‘n ar n-aon._

Draco stood outside the gates of the Manor waiting for Harry to arrive. The harsh bite of the air sent a shiver down his spine, and he drew his robes around himself tighter, trying to shield himself from Mother Nature’s cruel kiss. He wondered briefly why Harry always chose midnight, but soon it wouldn’t matter. And Draco wondered if even his duty to family extended into allowing someone to die, even if they weren’t entirely human…. He wasn’t capable of knowingly allowing someone to die, but he knew his mother and father were, and Narcissa’s warnings resonated in his thoughts until he stiffened at the feel of two arms enveloping him in a solid embrace.

“You smell… delightful,” Harry said, his warm breath ghosting against Draco’s neck. Draco hadn’t even heard him arrive, and he wasn’t sure how to react. “Relax… I’m not going to hurt you, Draco,” he purred gently, and it was as soothing as it was arousing to him. He hated to admit it, but the same compulsion he had felt the first night of Harry’s arrival, and last night was stronger on this evening than it had been any of the others times they had come in contact since the Saviour’s transformation. He had read as much about vampires as he could get his aristocratic hands on the night he had left Kingsley’s office, and he had been hoping that the statements about an innate desire to bond were wrong. But now that Draco felt it, he couldn’t ignore it, and he hated that. Because not only was his mother’s guilt forcing him to fight what he knew to be inevitable, but his own personal dilemmas were creating a war in his thoughts – one he felt almost incapable of fighting. He loved his mother and father, and he would do anything for them. What he felt for Harry was only superficial… he knew that. It was a response – _chemical_ – to pheromones, and it wasn’t real. 

“We need to leave,” Draco finally said, pulling away from Harry’s warm embrace. 

“Where to?”

“You’re the one courting me, Potter,” he said. 

“Paris, Italy… Egypt. The Rhine? What do you want to see?”

“Pick someplace, because we’re running out of time. You have two hours, Potter. I still have duties to perform in the morning.”

“Okay,” Harry said, returning his arms to Draco’s body. “How about…” 

Harry’s words died as he Side-Along-Apparated them away from the Manor. It seemed like it took forever, and when Draco opened his eyes, he was staring at the Eiffel Tower, its lights blazing in the early hours of morning. Harry had taken them to an alley somewhere in the middle of Paris, and he couldn’t help but be a little impressed by the vampire’s obviously romantic gesture. 

“Like it?” Harry asked, his breath still painfully close to Draco’s ear, and Draco nodded mutely, unsure if he wanted to snap in irritation because of the circumstances or actually thank him. 

“It’ll do,” he said. A throat behind them cleared, and Draco turned to see Weasley standing not far behind. 

“I’m not going to hurt him, Ron. Everyone knows that if I could just take him he’d already be mine,” Harry said in a low voice. 

“Two hours, Harry. I won’t be far behind.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied almost impatiently. “Shall we?” Harry asked, extending his hand. 

“I know my way around Paris, Potter. I have been here before,” Draco replied haughtily, and Harry let out a low chuckle that he found rather sexy. 

“Lead the way, then,” Harry said, stepping away. 

Draco took off at a reasonable pace, watching the city lights as they neared the open streets. He could smell the Seine as they drew nearer to the tower, and continued walking. Slowly they began a conversation; Harry told Draco things about himself, and Draco provided vague replies, knowing that any attachment could only end poorly. Mostly Potter rambled, though, and he often stumbled on his words as he sought ways to impress Draco. The reality was that there was no way to impress him. Not because he didn’t care, but because he knew his mother would have her way, and that he would reject Harry once again, as she had demanded that he do. 

“Harry,” Ron called out, reminding them of the time. Draco had to admit that there was more to the wizarding world’s Saviour that he’d ever thought. But that didn’t matter, and when they returned to the gates outside the Manor, Draco quickly turned his face to avoid feeling Harry’s lips against his again. Temptation was bitter, but he knew that indulging his own desires would only cause more problems in the end. No. It was easier to maintain his distance: he didn’t doubt that his mother would actually kill Potter if she felt that the Malfoy family name would be tarnished by Potter’s addition to it. 

“Tomorrow? We can go to Rome… China… what else do you want to see?” Harry asked, his eyes dancing. He wrapped his arms around Draco again, and inhaled. It was so animalistic, and Draco felt the compulsion to indulge Harry, but it wasn’t stronger than his sense of duty. 

“It’s not a good idea,” Draco replied. 

“Why not?” Harry asked, his face appearing wounded as though he had been kicked. “You didn’t enjoy yourself?”

“I did, but… Potter, you haven’t got a clue about the world. You see exactly what you want to see. You’re naïf, and too trusting.”

“What are you talking about? I just. Argh! Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

“Go,” Draco said, shaking his head. He turned away and headed through the gates of the Manor. Once inside, Zify awaited his every whim, and just like he had the previous night, Draco ordered the elf to deliver another rose and missive to Harry.

**~*~*~*~**

As time passed, Harry could feel himself growing weaker and weaker. Each trip he made with Draco left him feeling drained, and it took him more and more time after each excursion to regain his sense of equilibrium, but he never complained about it, and he tried to make the best of the time he had with Draco. Because although it was torture, it was also fragile and the closest thing he’d ever had to a real relationship as an adult. He and Ginny had called it quits shortly after Voldemort’s fall, and he had drifted from liaison to liaison ever since, never allowing anyone to get closer than arm’s length. And he had been content with that until his transformation.

But he wanted more, and even if most of what he was feeling was due to his desire to taste Draco’s blood, there was a certain fondness and comfort that he felt with the other man that he didn’t want to lose. He hated to admit that he learned more about Draco from what Draco didn’t say than from what he did, and Harry was like a puppy lapping at every word and gesture in the hope that he could convince Draco that a life together would be better than Draco living with Harry’s death on his conscience. And Harry didn’t want him to. 

The only real problem was that he was hungry, and food had long since lost any appeal to him, as it only provided a brief reprieve from the pangs that wracked his insides. He knew his time was growing shorter. He could feel his control slipping, a compulsion that he could barely control burning within him as he prepared to see his mate again.

_Pop._

When he arrived at Malfoy Manor, the gravel shifted underfoot as he walked, and after approaching the large, heavily enchanted entrance, he leaned against the barrier that prevented him from stepping any closer. 

He released a long sigh, fighting the instinct to rush through the bloody gate and take what was _rightfully_ his, but even he knew that taking that which wasn’t freely given was of no use to him. It was all semantics, and hidden ritual, instinct, rather than actual knowledge, and each rejection had left its mark on him. Reaching out, his ashen fingers wrapped around the wrought iron; it felt like metal tree bark under his hands. 

He only had one reason for being in Wiltshire, and that was Draco Malfoy. He didn’t care how he got in, but he planned to taste the blood that coursed through the pale blond’s veins that night, and he would stop at nothing to taste what he knew to be the only true path to freedom. He could feel it; it called to him like some wild beast ready to mate, and Harry wasn’t one to ignore such a powerful beacon – not when he was certain that if he kept trying, the Deputy Minister would give him exactly what he needed. He had lived thirty-five years with an appalling tenacity for stubbornness, what was a few more minutes?

The first time one of the Malfoy house-elves had come to him bearing a single white rose, its thorns bleeding Draco’s blood, he had nearly died in ecstasy, and now twenty-nine days later, he feared that he just might. 

His hands began to vibrate and the loud _clang_ of the lock releasing for the first time forced him to hope that this invitation inside the grounds meant that the game would finally be over. 

“I’m right here, Harry,” Ron said from behind him. He was covered by Harry’s Invisibility Cloak just like he had been every night since Harry had turned. 

The path to the house was relatively stable, and even with his weakness, Harry made his way to the front door. He was cold – more so than usual – and the path seemed to sprout obstacles to keep him away. As he drew closer to the door, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a lock of pale hair and turned, hoping to see Draco. He saw pallid, pointed features that were hard as ice, and Narcissa’s eyes were like chips of flint. 

“Mrs Malfoy,” Harry said quietly. “Where’s Draco?”

“You won’t be seeing my son this evening, Mr Potter. He’s with Astoria Greengrass, charming girl – they are going to marry. Didn’t he tell you?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

She let out a soft laugh, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her, angry that she stood so regally unaffected, appearing completely unconcerned by his pain. 

“Mr Potter, my son has obligations, and the Malfoy fortune is dwindling. The Greengrasses have offered a handsome dowry, and you will not rob us of that.” She smiled – a shallow muscle twitch that Harry remembered on Lucius’ face from many years before. It was dark, and there was a promise of pain behind an expression that should have indicated joy. 

“You never found it odd that Draco refused to see you? I have to admit, I never expected him to come and wait out here for you, but I should have known— He’s quite obstinate when he wants to be. He feels the bond with you. I noticed immediately when he stopped sleeping. But even so, he’s been fighting it all this time. He has a duty to his family, Mr Potter, and you are not going to interfere with our plans. Astoria will be a good match for him, and you will wither away like the pathetic _thing_ you have become.”

“That’s not fair! I don’t want to change him or kill him. I need him. Don’t you understand that?” he yelled. “If its money you want, I have money! I have the entire Black estate.”

“I rather suspect that you do, but he’s my son, and he will neither desert his family nor bring any more shame to it by allying himself with you,” she declared, brandishing her wand. “He will marry Astoria Greengrass as agreed, and that will be the end of it.” Her fingers twitched against the wood, and Harry realised that she would do anything to keep her family from any further disgrace. “You can’t last much longer… You’ve only fed once, and you never will again if I can help it. Now, let’s see… oh, yes, I was taking a midnight stroll in the garden when you broke through the gate. _Tsk._ Pity that I had to defend myself from a feral Dark Creature. A filthy vampire in heat.”

“I want to hear this from Draco,” Harry demanded. He felt a brief touch on his back, but he didn’t turn; he knew it was Ron. He briefly wondered if Ron would protect him from Draco’s mother, but her voice stalled any further conjecture regarding Ron’s allegiances.

“I told you, Draco is not here,” she snapped.

“Why are you doing this? You… you saved me once to save his life – all our lives,” Harry gasped. “Is money worth that much to you? How much did you sell him for?” Fuck. They’d sold their own son for power, for money… He was stunned into silence by Narcissa Malfoy’s unflinching, cold-blooded lack of hesitation to claw her way back to her former position by any means necessary. Her son – her flesh and blood – was simply a tool to gain social status and power. 

“That’s none of your concern. The Deputy Minister will be the Minister one day, and he can’t do that with you distracting him or being the mate of a _vampire_.” 

“Draco!” Harry yelled out, too weak to run away. “Ron,” he whispered as he swayed on unsteady feet.

“I told you – it’s useless. Say good-bye, Mr Potter. _Avada—_ ”

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ” two voices screamed at the same time, and Harry dropped to his knees. Ron shimmered into view, and he heard Draco’s voice, only he felt like he was inside a tunnel, and it kept getting further and further away. As everything grew dark, the last thing he saw was Draco’s face hovering over him, pale fingers brushing against Harry’s cheek, and even with darkness closing in around him, serenity seemed to glow within him at the gesture.

**~*~*~*~**

A soft duvet enfolded Harry, and he was warm and comfortable, if a bit weak. He opened his eyes and everything was red in the din of the room. He knew he wasn’t at home by the smell – his mate’s scent – that surrounded him. He groaned, barely able to lift himself from the bed to look around, and he saw that last thing he expected: beside the bed, looking down at him was Draco – all pale, stormy eyes that granted him a brief sense of peace.

“Draco?” Harry croaked.

“I’m here. What do I need to do?”

“What?” Harry asked stupidly. 

“What do I have to do so you don’t die?”

“Blood…” Harry said slowly. “Need your blood.” 

“Sit up,” Draco said. “Sit up, Potter,” he repeated when Harry lay motionless.

Harry tried to move, but it was difficult: he was weak, and he felt his survival instincts beginning to take over. Death was coming, and he felt it; and being near his mate only made it worse. He growled low, his fangs growing painfully as Draco drew nearer. 

“Drink,” Draco said, turning his neck to the side and leaning closer to Harry.

That one word was all Harry needed, and with energy he didn’t know he had, he reared forward and sank his fangs into the pale neck. Blood, glorious and hot, flooded his mouth quickly at the rate Draco’s heart was racing, and each hitched swallow brought Harry closer to his senses. His stomach stopped aching, and the rest of his body felt invigorated, alive in a way it hadn’t since the night of his transformation. A soft moan from Draco made him release the pale, slender neck, and he pulled away, licking his lips. 

“Thank you,” Harry said, looking deeply into the pale eyes. 

“This doesn’t mean I’m in love with you,” Draco said, and Harry couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips. 

“No, me either.”

“The bond isn’t complete,” Draco stated. 

“Will it be?” Harry asked, his thoughts still slow as the blood sated his hunger. 

“I didn’t let you die.”

“No, you didn’t. Later, then. But soon. I need to sleep,” he said, stroking Draco’s cheek. He settled against the bed again and released a calm sigh. “Where am I?”

“My room,” Draco said. “I’ll see you at sundown.” Draco stood to leave, but Harry pulled him back, and kissed him, really kissed him, for the first time. If sensation had colour, he was certain that his mind was bursting with a radiating prism of darkness and light that felt all-consuming. Moisture and heat collided, forcing them to keep their mouths as close as possible, locking the feeling between them until his bottom lip become a sweet between Draco’s demanding teeth. He moaned, feeling Draco’s breath caress his face. Mouths opened again, and Harry’s tongue was trapped between Draco’s lips, being sucked until his toes curled against the bedding and his fingers sought purchase in his mate’s perfectly groomed hair. He was needy, and his cock was hard as he touched Draco without fear of rejection, his lips and tongue mimicking everything that he wished to do to Draco’s body. Their lips fought valiantly against one another, and Harry moaned at each hard swipe of Draco’s tongue against his.

“I need you,” Harry whispered, pulling away. “I need you here when I wake up. I need to fuck you.” His voice sounded strained and desperate to his own ears, but he no longer cared. All that mattered was that Draco was willing, and he wasn’t going to question it. For all he knew, he would never wake up, only having tasted Draco’s blood once. 

Draco nodded, his mouth quivering slightly, only inches away – each breath mingled until Harry released him reluctantly, feeling a combination of satiation and fevered desire now that he had tasted his mate and it had been as perfect as he had hoped. He lay back against the bed and took a deep breath, grateful that it was over.

The bedroom door shut and blessed darkness swallowed Harry as he closed his eyes, dreams of what was to come filling his head.

**~*~*~*~**

Harry woke to a warm body nestled against his; it was all heat and hardness, and he groaned as he felt Draco’s hips shift enough to rub his cock against Harry’s arse. “And I thought I’d have to beg you,” Harry chuckled wryly as he turned to face Draco.

“It could be worse,” Draco said, trailing an inquisitive finger along Harry’s nose. His skin prickled beneath the caress, and he wondered if that was Draco or the bond forcing the contact. “I could have been stuck with Goyle.”

“Yeah, good thing you aren’t,” Harry growled, pressing his lips to Draco’s. He was tired of asking and begging, so he took, knowing that Draco was finally willing. Weeks of tension began to uncoil, and with stands of metallic-coloured hair wrapped in his grasp, he insisted that Draco give more, take more until he was painfully hard. Draco’s hand manoeuvred between their bodies and wrapped around Harry’s cock, his fingers teasing the tip with soft caresses; he took hold, gliding the skin and back and forth until Harry dropped his forehead against Draco’s chest. It was sheer bliss, and he exhaled heavily, trying to voice his wants, his needs, through desire-addled senses. “Ah, like that,” Harry finally said through clenched teeth, and he started to roll Draco on his back.

“No,” Draco said. “I’m going to fuck you.” 

“But—”

“No, you’re going to sit on my cock and I’m going to fuck you. You can have your blood and semen, and I get your tears and semen, Potter… I’ve read the books,” he said, making his point by twisting his hand around Harry’s prick once again. “It’s a fair trade,” he added with a lecherous smirk.

“Fuck,” Harry said. “Okay, okay…” he moaned, feeling the pressure build in the pit of his stomach with each twist of Draco’s hand against his cock.

Harry slid his hands beneath Draco’s shirt, feeling the perfect, soft flesh reach for his touch, and he finally pulled the garment away to expose the dips and curves of Draco’s body, his lips trailing against the solid chest that rose and fell like the tides against his mouth. He wasn’t in as much of a hurry to taste Draco now, but the need was still there, and he reverently licked and sucked as much of Draco’s skin as his mouth could reach, teasing the blood to the surface until a red mark remained in his wake. His mouth travelled each curve of muscle, and he buried his nose against the fine hair that led beneath the band of Draco’s pants, inhaling the soft musk of his mate’s body. Harry ripped the front of the flimsy material separating their skin with ease, and admired the throbbing, purple cock before him. Draco’s prick was long, and Harry wanted his mouth around it, wanted to swallow him whole. 

He spread Draco’s legs and settled between them, his tongue collecting the beads of pre-come from the tip of Draco’s cock. A throaty moan distracted him, but he didn’t let it stop him for long. His tongue curled around the head of Draco’s prick, and he closed his lips, massaging the underside of Draco’s shaft until he could go no further. “Fuck,” Draco moaned. “Just like that.”

Harry obliged, his mouth full and his body aching for more. The weight of Draco’s cock in his mouth made him giddy, and he thrummed with the pleasure of such control; he would demand Draco’s submission, accept it, and return the favour as many times as he was asked. Each little moan and each push of Draco’s hand on the back of his head, forcing him further down, made him want to keep going until Draco lost control and filled his mouth with hot, sticky come. 

“Stop,” Draco pleaded, his voice cracking. “Turn around and prepare yourself.”

“Demanding, aren’t we?” Harry said after releasing Draco’s erection.

“Stop wasting time, Potter,” Draco grunted. “Do it.”

Harry sat up and removed his pants, then turned around, displaying his arse to Draco. Looking over his shoulder, he brought his fingers to his mouth and worked spit onto them until they were dripping. Eyes still fixed on Draco, he used one hand to hold himself open, and slowly brought his fingers to his hole, spreading the saliva until he breached the tight ring of muscle. He couldn’t help the groan of pleasure that fell from his lips, and it wasn’t long before he had two fingers working their way deeper and the need to fuck or be fucked became the only drive he felt.

Behind him, he could see Draco stroking his cock slowly, soft groans spilling from his open mouth as he watched. His eyes were cloudy, and he was breathless when he said, “Get over here.”

Harry complied, and straddled Draco’s hips. Their erections touched, and the desire to slide against the hardened flesh was strong, but he stopped as Draco looked at him with an expression that gave him the feeling that if he didn’t comply with Draco’s wishes, there would be no mating. He gave a lascivious smirk in offering, but inside he nearly sang with glee. He had an equal; there would be a constant push and pull for power, and it only made Eros’s call stronger. 

Harry watched Draco coat his fingers in saliva, and was eager to feel those long, slender fingers working inside him. He clenched his muscles in anticipation, feeling a shudder of delight at the look in Draco’s eyes. 

Draco’s hand disappeared between his wantonly spread thighs, easily finding his opening, thrusting inside and spreading the lubrication until his head tipped back and all he could do was attempt to catch his breath. A sigh of pleasure rippled through him, and he arched when Draco’s fingers reached further and further, his eyelids alight with sparks. 

“You’re ready,” he said, and Harry couldn’t agree more. Draco stroked some spit onto his cock and held the base steady as Harry positioned himself. His body needed this, and he tried to relax as the thick head of Draco’s prick began to sink into him. Balls and cock steadied in one hand, Harry looked down until he could no longer see Draco filling him. He lowered his weight, their moans filling the room with each inch until Draco was fully seated inside him. He hadn’t been this close with anyone in ages, and it was overwhelming the way he could feel each ridge and twitch of Draco’s cock inside him. He leant forward, his palms resting against the bedding beside Draco’s head, and their eyes met. The intensity was undeniable as Harry lifted himself and exhaled a low hiss of pain and pleasure. 

Draco bent his knees, and Harry adjusted his position until he was comfortably resting on his own. Sweaty, firm hands gripped his hips, and what started as slow rising and falling became faster, more desperate, and the harder Draco went, the more pain and pleasure came with it. 

It didn’t matter that it hurt and that Harry was on the verge of tears, because he was finally with Draco, there were no more challenges to be faced, and he had his mate. He would live. He leant forward and kissed Draco as their bodies crashed into one another, heavy and violent. And each thrust pushed him closer to completion – each mellifluous moan from Draco made his cock harder as their bodies grew tight and prepared for the moment when they would be each other’s for as long as they breathed. 

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco said. “Oh, gon’… fuck… come. Bite me…” he moaned. The pale neck arched invitingly, and Harry licked his lips.

He didn’t need to be told twice. His fangs, already extended and eager to get him what he’d already tasted once, were against Draco’s skin and Draco forced his hips higher and harder until Harry bit, the pain and pleasure mingling until tears of relief and suffering clouded his vision. Draco’s blood ran against his tongue in a crimson tide, and he could have sworn he was drowning. He wrapped his arm behind Draco’s neck, holding him in place while the vein he had pierced spilt into his mouth as though a dam had been breached.

He was lost. Heat, raw and forceful, tore through him with each steady snap of his mate’s hips. Draco’s sweat-slicked hand reached between them and began to pump Harry’s cock, and he pulled away, his mouth dripping as he arched his back, come shooting across Draco’s chest and abdomen, the knot inside him finally unfurling. The blissful pressure inside him became more intense, and he slammed his body against Draco’s harder and harder until Draco’s name was a violent shout of praise from his stained lips. 

Everything went dead to him, no thoughts, no sound, nothing as the magic sealed their bond, and then Draco shouted Harry’s name, his cock pulsing with each spurt of come that filled Harry’s arse. 

Harry collapsed against Draco’s chest, his own heaving heavily against the slick body beneath him. He felt completely vulnerable for the first time in ages, and his tears continued to fall. They were the proof of his agony and appreciation for his mate’s acceptance, and the relief was overwhelming. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry to steady him; Harry’s face was still nestled against the juncture of Draco’s neck and shoulder, and he exhaled contentedly when long fingers carded through his messy black hair. “Thank you,” Harry whispered loud enough for his mate to hear. 

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Draco said softly, and Harry nodded, raising his hips until Draco’s cock left him. He felt oddly empty without the connection, and left the bed, waiting for Draco to lead the way. A spell to heal the puncture wounds on Draco’s neck was used, and Harry reverently kissed the irritated skin with a smile. 

After a long shower together, exploring one another’s bodies and washing away the grime of their coupling, they returned to fresh linens and clothes. They talked until morning, and as the first glimpse of sunlight began to fill the room, Draco spelled the room into darkness, and they lay in each other’s arms until sleep claimed them.

**~*~*~*~**

_Is leatsa m’anam gus an criochnaich ar saoghal._

In the days, or nights, in Harry’s case, following the initial bond, Harry and Draco spent as much time together as possible, enjoying their shared need for one another. It had started as fevered need, and slowly became something else entirely. They argued and made up with heavy sex that left both of them wondering what had started it begin with. It was all a blur, but they seemed to make the most of it. The deal with the Greengrass family had been broken, and after a week of waiting, they finally were able to watch as Narcissa was taken to Azkaban for attempted murder. Remarkably, Harry’s condition never became a scandal in the _Daily Prophet_ , and he and Draco were able to wander about wizarding London in peace. Lucius hadn’t been happy about Draco’s bond, but he eventually accepted it when Draco left the Manor to live with Harry at Grimmauld Place.

Life wasn’t perfect, but it was life, and Harry tried to make sure that he showed Draco his appreciation every day. Harry never returned to work as an Auror, but Draco maintained his position at the Deputy Minister for Magic. In time, they became friends, the boundaries between obligation and acceptance blurring the longer they spent together, and it was evident to anyone who saw one of their hands brush the other when they thought no one was looking, or the way they glanced at one another as though nothing else in the world existed to them, that they were content. 

-end-

_**'Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone.  
I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One.  
I give ye my Spirit, 'til our Life shall be Done.'_

** Scottish blood vow; Gaelic translation Iain Taylor. 


End file.
